It's Gettin Hot In Here!

I'm in south Florida and, naturally, there's a moderate to severe monsoon in full effect right now. My teeth are throbbing because I was finally granted my wisdom tooth cleansing syringe, so though I can sort of gum down solid food, it gets lodged in my wisdom tooth cavities and causes extreme pain. Need more ice cream (and cowbell). The topic of this evening's blog is the Miami Heat/Orlando Magic game we just attended. It was quite the evening.

We were able to go because my new friend Megan (my parents' trainer) got 4 tickets from one of her clients. The seats were pretty awesome, but so was the company. To my right, old college pal and long-time n'er do well, Jona. To my left, my sister Ashley and Megan.

I can't tell you the last time I attended a Heat game-maybe never?? I know next to nothing about basketball because I, myself, cannot play. I harbor disdain for the things I cannot do, so I refuse to acknowledge their existence. Kidding. Still, I really know nothing. I know different points are awarded for various shots on the court. I know there's a center and a forward and a point guard, and the point guard is usually the little guy/quarterback. I know most basketball players are not regulation height; they are descents of Jack and/or Jack's Beanstalk. And, that's about it. Someone asked me to name the Miami Heat players and my response? "Yao Ming, not Tony Parker, Jamal Walker, Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, and Scotty Pippen." I threw in "Darryl Strawberry" to be cute, but really...I didn't even know Dwayne Wade. For shame, Jaimie. For shame.

(Note to readers: I know now.)

When we found our seats, I immediately began snapping photos (because it's what I do best). We decided on pretzels and beer, so I tasked the group with this while I sat and people watched. Here's what I observed: Miami Heat basketball fans love Affliction t-shirts (shocker), bedazzled designer jeans, bump-its (http://www.bighappiehair.com/), and everything is freezer packed to them. What I mean by this is: it appears as if someone dressed themselves, made an air-tight seal with their fabric, and commissioned a friend to suck any excess particles that existed between themselves and the clothing. Their sartorial splendor is what us Texas folk call "Tyeeeee-t". No bueno. They are all ages, colors, and sizes, and (as I also learned this evening), all levels of class.

Exhibit A) The lady in front of us had a pretty cute toddler, but he became less cute when his bum was bared for all fans to peruse as his mother CHANGED HIS DIAPER in the row in front of us. I don't want to know what she did with the dirty diaper. All I know is that my group emitted a few dry heaves.

Exhibit B) We found an orphaned, dismantled cell phone in the row above us, so I took it upon myself to Humpty Dumpty it and make a plan. I decided I would conduct some research on their call history, see who was most often called and texted, and then text that person informing them that I have a cell phone for ransom. The problem was this: Most of the texts were in Spanish. They don't call Miami "Little Cuba" for nothing. I did my best and opted on "Pilon". I began a new text to Pilon identifying myself and indicating that the owner was MIA. I sent it and waited. Wonder of wonders-Pilon texted back! "Where r u?" Just as I was about to respond, this well-dressed organized crime boss saunters in behind us, settled in his seat, picks up his beer, extends his pinky ring, and takes a sip. We determined this fine Razor had to belong to him. Lo and behold! I probably should have held out for the ransom, but I suppose (in some ways), I got it. Freedom. La liberdad.

By far, my favorite part of the game was the between-play entertainment. There was a martial arts school of children performing their sequences (awww) and a group of adults kickboxing to ACDC's "T.N.T." (awkward). They had a Benihana's flip the shrimp competition where one contestant, dressed in an apron, had to flick stuffed crustaceans into a giant chef's hat (awkward). There were the critically acclaimed Miami Heat dancers (ranked the #1 dance team for 4 consecutive years, mind you-

http://www.nba.com/heat/dance/dancers_aud_010403.html)! They were fun!

Finally, they promotion team selected 3 little boys (age 4, approx) and they were dressed in Miami Heat basketball shorts, but the size would fit a 6'7 man. They looped the drawstring over their heads, fitted them in their GIANT sneakers, and lined them up. Poor kids could barely stand as it was. To boot, the kids had to run about 10 feet, toss on the final touch on the uniform (a regulation sized jersey). Then, they had to race 5 more feet, grab a mini basketball, and dunk on a hoop about as tall as the toddlers. Man, that was awesome. I cheered louder for them than I did for Yao Ming. Or whomever.

After a quick game of Telephone, we decided to leave a quarter early. Jona's never played Telephone (probably because he's never attended a 5th grade girls' sleepover party), so he kept inappropriately using the "Operator" tool.

All in all, our early departure turned out to be a phenomenal decision because we beat the rain by seconds. On our way back to the car, a bum lunged at Ashley and Jona. We were gifted car flags on the way in to the game, but Ashley was unarmed because she bequeathed it to a homeless man. With the leftover flags, we wanted to decorate Jona's car for the ride home. We think our mom is going to have an excellent surprise when she returns from her cruise--she's a Heat fan! We screamed Counting Crows songs in Hurricane Florida on the way home and I used my various pill bottles for maracas. The Ibprofen was most useful; the Synthroid was the least.

Goooo Heat!

Chomper removal

Well, all of the anticipation and anxiety has run it's course. I now have an informed understanding of surgical procedures and what should have been generating the MOST fear: RECOVERY. I had all four wisdom teeth removed (three were impacted) on Friday, 12/11 at 10 am. I was incredibly nervous as I was traveling to the dentist's office, but it helped that the surgery was at my regular dentist's office and there seemed to be nothing special about the experience as I entered the office. When they took me back to the chair, it all looked fairly benign. There were no giant knives or needles that I observed, which was a great sign. When I was seated in the surgical chair, my oral surgeon began to ask me questions about my academic program. I was shaking the entire time and probably not offering the most articulate rationale for my research. This would be good practice for dissertation defense.

As they were placing the IV in my arm, the doctor commented on the level of oxygenation in my blood. He said it was impressive and I was hoping that my oxygenation might some how give me an edge in the surgery and/or recovery. Doubtful, but maybe... I told him that I was, in fact, terrified and he replied, "Why, you have the easy part? I have the hard part." Okay, that didn't help any!!

My biggest fear during surgery was that I would be paralyzed from the anesthesia, but I could feel every stick, drill, tractor...whatever they were doing to my poor teeth. I did feel the incredibly painful Novicane shots (ALL FOUR) and I did hear the doctors speaking throughout the surgery. I don't remember the actual surgery or waking up, though I did remember asking to see my teeth. He said they were already in their final resting place (the biohazard bin), and after doing some of my own research, I would imagine they are in tiny little fragmented pieces.

May I take this opportunity to address my former teeth? Dear Teeth, I HATE YOU. I hate you for being in my mouth and causing me to miss out on eating for days. Thanks for that. I hate you even more for allowing the duration of this entry to take place.

So, my mom and friend Nancy came with me so they could drive me back from the surgery and look after me in the immediate hours after the removal. I can't really remember much about those hours, but I was feeling mostly okay. I slept a little, walked around aimlessly a little. My friend Katie came over and joined us, and this is when the fun began. Katie brought over a bunch of food-like items and assorted goodies to keep me occupied. I was only prescribed one Vicodin every 4 hours and it turned out that was one Vicodin too few. I wasn't able to form the blood clots, so I kept having to replace the gauze and was essentially producing mouthfuls of bloody drool every 10 minutes. It was delicious and I bet I never looked better. By not forming those clots, I left my nerve endings fully exposed in their vacant little oral beds and I could feel every little sip of water and vanilla frosty. The pain caused me to shake uncontrollably and my teeth to chatter. It was awesome. Katie called my surgeon and the pharmacist, who both agreed to let me up my dosage by another pill. I also replaced the gauze with moisturized tea bags. This contained me for a few hours. I still couldn't talk, but I was able to write everything on a notepad. This provided my guests with lots of entertainment because I sometimes deferred to charades to communicate. At one point, my friend and I were calling someone a name that rhymes with "Crass-mole". Jaimie Krause, class all the way.

The evening before surgery, my friend Danielle delivered a bunch of non-solid food items so I wouldn't starve on my new mush diet. The evening after the surgery, Bobby came over and we watched episodes of the Office because I couldn't sleep. By Friday night and into Saturday morning, I was feeling better again. So much so that I decided to go shopping with my mom on Saturday and invite our several awesome friends who brought me even more great stuff (Phil, John, and Susan-thank youuu!). So many nurses!! We attended a Chanukah party on Saturday night, and I was doing okay for about 15 minutes there. I tried to gum down some matzo ball soup and I accidentally relied on my back teeth at one point. Big mistake. I had to excuse myself from the party (which was right down the street) to pop a few more pain pills. Perhaps I should have attempted some other food, since I had very little in my stomach at this point. At about 11:30 pm, I began to feel a little queasy. By 12:00 am, it was full-blown nausea. I will save you the details, but let's just say the "experience" lasted until 5:00 am. Bobby tried to call my doctor several times from the hours of 3:00-5:00 am to no avail. Finally, he had to take a trip to Walgreens to get me some anti-nausea medication. After he returned and I downed the meds, I rushed to the restroom 3 minutes later. I was a mess and there was nothing that could help me.

Today (Sunday), has been a little better. My friend Russ dropped off some soup, which has helped a bit. I am in pain, but I am forcing myself to also eat ice cream and mashed potatoes. I discovered two incisions in each of my cheeks, which seem to be complicating my recovery. I don't understand why they are there and they seem to be aching more than my actual empty sockets. I have Bobby on dry socket duty. He is armed with flashlights and has to inspect the area every few hours. I am sure it's a lot of fun for him (and also smells like roses), but he's taken it like a trooper.

Thank you to all of my nurses who have supported my recovery (in order of arrival): Mom, Danielle, Nancy, Katie, Meaghan, Bobby, John, Susan, Phil, and Russ. Although I am mostly still uncomfortable, I would not be where I am in this process without you. :)

Need More Christmas?

It is a well-known fact that I am not good at organized religion. I would never begrudge someone for practicing a religion or a personal form of spirituality (provided no one is being hurt in the process). Far be it from me to judge, mandate, or damn anyone based on their belief system. In fact, one of my favorite quotes is from Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi, a 13th century Sufi poet and philosopher--you might know him as simply "Rumi". In his poem Spring Giddiness, he wrote: "There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground." I love this, but I found some folks who may not.

On the retail website Stand For Christmas (http://www.standforchristmas.com/), shoppers have the opportunity to rate popular stores like Bed, Bath, & Beyond, Nordstrom, and the GAP on customer service and Christmas spirit. Retailers receive ratings such as "Christmas-friendly, Christmas-negligent, and Christmas-offensive". As you might imagine, Christmas spirit is not simply defined by volume of snowflakes present in displays, the quality of the life-sized galloping Ruldoph, or the size of those chestnuts roasting on an open fire. No, my friends...take a gander at a few of the *warnings* shoppers issue fellow Spirit Seekers:

Comment Date: Dec 1 2009 11:41 AM
Rating: Christmas-Offensive
Comment: First thing I notice [at the GAP] is that they are only playing non-Christian Christmas songs (Jingle Bells, etc.). Unacceptable. I ask a clerk, "What is the reason for the season?" and I get back "What?". I buy a shirt and when they ask me what kind of wrapping paper, I reply that I want nativity paper or something showing the baby Jesus. They say they only have snowflakes and snowmen and green/red paper. What does green and red have to do with JESUS?

Comment Date: Nov 28 2009 9:49 AM
Rating: Christmas-Negligent
Comment: I actually walked into the store, [Home Depot]. Saw "holiday" poinsettas, "holiday" trees. Spoke directly to manager who advised, it's store policy from corporate. I politely told him I'd be going to Lowes.

Comment Date: Nov 29 2009 5:36 PM
Rating: Christmas-Offensive
Comment: Went to [the Barnes and Noble] Web Site and not one featured book was about Christmas. Even the Children"s book feature was Green Eggs and Ham not the Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

Here's the irony, I love Christmas! I love the smells, the songs, the cheer, the decorations, the food...bring it! If someone said Merry Christmas to me, I would absolutely wish them a Merry Christmas back. To me, this demonstrates part of my issue with what Christmas has become. Shoppers, if you want to celebrate Jesus, go to an institution designated to do so. Have a Christmas party! Decorate your lawn with a nativity scene. Christmas isn't really about presents, is it? I thought, according to Christianity, Christmas is actually the celebration of the birth of Jesus. Why then would the GAP, a public entity which serves all kinds of people, dress a mannequin as Jesus Christ? Why should Bed, Bath, & Beyond choose to house a Santa riding their day bed and his reindeer pulling it down the aisle? Why should any of the stores care if the some of us in this world honor this holiday? To me, that seems really inappropriate. I don't really know what you're looking for these stores to do for you, dear shoppers. Would you like to be doused with red and green glitter as you enter, with little Happy Birthday Jesus confetti pieces interspersed? I mean no disrespect to anyone, as I understand (especially after visiting Spain this summer) the magnitude with which Jesus is revered on this planet. All I'm asking is that those needing a little Christmas respect those of us who need a little Kwnazaa or a little Hanukkah or a little Bodhi Day or a little Dong zhi or a little Diwali-the list goes on...

Look at all of these alternatives to Christmas that other people observe. Amazing, isn't it? There's a whole world out there and I think it's a little self-righteous that only one belief should be displayed at Macy's.

My favorite HOLIDAY ad: